


We are defined by what conquers us

by GryffindorNight



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, M/M, Viktor is so extra, first time writing in english i'm sorry, i don't know what i did, non chronological at all, there's mention of yurio/otabek but really slight so it isn't tagged, this is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 00:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12782502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GryffindorNight/pseuds/GryffindorNight
Summary: Before any panic situation, Yuuri commits himself to hours of training to tame his soul.As it turns out, training heals his heart’s wounds.





	1. The Definition

**Author's Note:**

> This work was un-saved and named as "Document 1" for almost four months until I decided I was finishing it for real. I never wrote anything this long in English, so here we go.  
> I might have been drunk.
> 
> This is also an experiment, I wanted to tell Yuuri's story from his anxiety, so this isn't chronological, but all of it is a serie of events following Yuuri being panicked, finding courage to keep going and learning something about himself. Let's see if I made sense or something. 
> 
> Amazing UP2L8 beta read this for me, mistakes are mine because I did things after out of nerves.

Yuuri is twelve years and seven months old when he sticks the white duct tape to left corner of the first poster in his room. He can recall his chubby fingers, his shaky breathing, the smudged glasses on his face. His feet are aching and his thighs are burning after skating. Yuuko made him run and jump and sweat that morning because she had something for him and wanted him to earn it. It was a challenge to take, and Yuuri could trust her enough to suffer.

 

And the gift was Viktor Nikiforov, with his hair flowing and his arms wide open, chin lifted, long shoulder line. He’d never seen a poster like that in town before, and Yuuko said proudly that she’d had her mother bring it home from a trip to Tokyo. He stood before the photograph: black and grey and white, long straight legs. He could almost feel the cold breeze, almost touch the sparks of glittering ice.

 

It was nearly time for his ballet class, but Yuuri couldn’t stop thinking about it: about ice, cold, sharp, pain everywhere, crowd screaming, music pounding, applause, strenght. It moved him, made his chest warm, his feet itchy, made the world brighter.

 

And because he wanted it so much, breathing became hard and he found himself glued to the ground.

 

His mother led him out of the house so he could go to his ballet lesson, and she held his hand while she did it. He was out of breath and tired right down to his soul once he stepped outside.

 

His mother never asked.

 

He never would have told.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is twenty three years and four months old, and a two dimensional, silent Viktor was distressing enough. Yuuri would often get lost in him like that, in the darkness of his room, knowing by heart the details of his face, the exact curve of his spine, the precise line of his shoulders.

 

In reality Viktor is taller than he expected, absurdly tall, all naked musle and honest smile. Yuuri has become familiar with the lenght of his extended arm, the many shades of his blue eyes, his soft cock, his warm voice, the breath leaving his body, the hair falling into his face and sticking to his forehead, the wet line of his tongue behind his teeth.

 

“Wa--What did you just say?”

Viktor invades like a foreign army claiming another realm as theirs. He comes with hunger and laughter and a millon suitcases, full lips overflowing with words, and one dog. He stays, really close, looking at Yuuri as if under a microscope and says all sorts of offensive and candid things. He says them all with that expression of his that fills Yuuri with such unease. He speaks easy and fast with that mouth so close to smiling, and he’s all over the place, his prescence lighting up the room, the brightest of lamps, more radiant than the fucking moon itself. He is unbelievable; the third time he makes fun of his belly that night Yuuri wants to slap him in the face, kick him in the ass, scream at him, crawl away in shame, push his tummy in, kiss him, jerk off like mad in his room.

 

He does push his belly in but doesn’t open his mouth.

 

“What’s in your mind?” Viktor asks, the fucker. “I’m your trainer now, I wanna know what makes you look like that.”

 

“Like w-what?”

 

“Like that,” says Viktor, close to his face, ponting at him, “like you are facing the fight of your life, and you are going to fight it hard as ever.”

 

_I want to run away, in fact._

“If you do as I say we can fight this battle together. Just don’t go where I can’t follow.”

 

Yuuri stares at him because… what does he mean by that? He couldn’t have read him that well in one go. But at the same time… he keeps his mouth shut, because where can Viktor not follow him, when he is in the lonely and quiet emptiness of his secret time.

 

“I-I won’t,” says Yuuri.

 

“You better not, ‘cause I’m staying here until your mother gets me fat with all that pork, and you win some gold, and make me proud.”

 

Yuuri wants this so much that breathing becomes hard, and it glues him to the ground, but he isn’t twelve years old anymore so he moves by himself. After dinner is done, when Viktor follows him to his room, he makes sure to close the door and take down all twenty of his posters. He hides them beneath his bed.

 

He also jerks off that night until his body tenses and his mind blows white.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is twenty years old and doesn’t know much about kissing. Kissing, kisses, mouths and saliva, and so yes, he always tells himself that he is fine with it not happening. Often, not happening often. He once kissed a girl, Nana, in his ballet class, by accident. They crashed and fell to the ground. It… doesn’t count, and it was like nine yeras ago, but, well, yes, it does count. Whatever.

 

He’s getting drunk in Detroit because college is for a couple things besides studying and training. His friends, or better Phitchit friends, are playing games to get even drunker faster, and Yuuri follows, talks when he has to, looks at the green wall behind them all and listens to the music, not caring much.

 

Caring completely, ignoring it, buzzed.

 

When they spin the bottle Yuuri looks at it as if it were a curse upon him but doesn’t say a word, he feels so old and so tired on the inside sometimes, like the weight of being alive is unberable. And the fuckery stops, pointing at him and at Phitchit, who is so young and laughing so hard. He tries to excuse himself, in vain, because Phitchit speaks up first between the laughter of his friends.

 

“Don’t worry fellas,” he says, “I may kiss him, fine, but we are best friends and I’m not stealing him from any of you”

 

_Yeah, right._

 

They kiss, real fast and real easy. It is not like gun fire or shooting stars, Phitchit is close and soft on his lips for a second. It doesn’t even get weird afterward, they just look at each other and laugh, drink. If Yuuri doesn’t kiss anybody else is because he calmy stands up and leaves for the bathroom, but goes home without nobody noticing. He knows the shit storm that’s going on inside him, so he relaxes his shoulders and walks, cold going through him, leaving him edgy.

 

For him, kissing is a gesture of love and trust, while others laugh and make a joke about it. It’s fine, jokes are made of common things. But for him, kissing is just _not common_. It’s intimate. It’s a bit like making love, in his head, and he can’t quite wrap his head around that, around love in general. That’s kind of why he could kiss Phitchit, because he loves him, but honestly that’s not how he wants to be kissed. That’s not the kind of love he wants to feel while doing it. He at least knows that much.

 

It’s snowing the whole way as he walks to his place, and he thinks about the scratch of his skates over ice, the cold in the air, the warmth in his body. He wants to be kissed so badly, angrily and helpless, a breath stealing and mind blowing kind of kissing, but he just can’t let it happen so easily. He has waited for it without noticing, or not wanting to.

 

But he wants it, wants it so much it almost glues him to the ground and steals the air out of his lungs. It takes him five minutes to calm down, but he keeps walking, even though in panic.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is twenty two when he places sixth in the Grand Prix Final. He’s glued to the ground and the chair, breathing hard. He is staring at the news and hearing faintly what Celestino says. He wanted it so badly, damn it all. He has been glued to the ground his whole miserable life and still wanted it so much he went out and trained the brains out of this head.

 

He has nothing to say to himself. Hopeless, he excuses himself to his coach - who clearly knows, so transparent he is, and goes to the bathroom. And he sits and calls his mother, so she can just hold his hand metaphorically, but she tells him about all the people who gathered to watch him fail. He is so ashamed, so humilliated by his own mental image, that life weights six tons on his lower back where he carries his stress. He pays due respect, apologizes, doesn’t say goodbye and hangs up.

 

And, like all the many nights spent with Viktor’s pictures in front of him, like all the many days scrolling through Instagram and being empty and thirsty for something he can’t name, he lets it pour out and he cries.

 

Water disolves his kind of glue.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is twenty four years old and fighting a losing battle with his anxiety. It eases for a while when he ignores it, but anxiety is a fear of living, and he can never ignore life long enough. In Yuuri’s case his life is musical and rhythm abundant, his life slides on ice and feels frosty to the hand. In the fight of this life he rebels at the idea of being a hands-down loser. He may lose again, but he will lose facing the devil straight on. The last time he didn’t; he panicked, he ran away. And he won’t again, he said as much to Viktor.

 

During and after training Yuuri thinks better, clearer, easier, and he is thinking of Viktor, again. It’s like everything is evident on his face and yet Yuuri, living under the same roof as him, is certain that he still doesn’t know as much as he’d like. The real Viktor, not the idea that hangs on the wall in his room, the one he knows by heart. Viktor is the storm in the middle of summer, the quite rage of nature.

 

Yuuri has a collection of details with no asociation: like the patterns Viktor likes best in clothes, the temperature of sake he prefers, the smells that make him think of home, his abrupt and revolving love life. And he knows things that punch him in the stomach and leave him numb and on fire at the same time: like the smell of his hair in the morning and the touch of his hands when there is pain everywhere, the laziness of his words before he falls sleep and the taste of his kisses, the urgent yet slow motion of his hips when they kiss for long moments, the sound deep in his throat when Yuuri bites, the absent look in his eyes when tired and alone, the intense thinking he’s been doing since he arrived.

 

Sometimes Yuuri wonders if Viktor is running away as well.

 

Yuuri hopes he is not, even if Viktor bottles up anger and dispair in a smile, even if he seems alright and he’s absent sometimes, staring at the inside of his head instead of outside of it. With the sun above him, he is the long shadow on the stairs Yuuri has climbed so many times these last few months, stretching at the top, caressing Makkechin behind his ears and holding the chronometer for Yuuri.

 

Running or not, Viktor is one big, glowing, happy reason to get up in the morning when anxiety grabs Yuuri tight under the sheets and whispers every logical argument to believe that he is not going to make it. Viktor is not the solution, but his was the voice Yuuri heard for the first time, telling him that Yuuri’s fears where like drowning in a pool, only to discover that your head is out of the water because you are sitting on the bottom.

 

“I’m not going to say ‘you are not weak’,” he said, sunshine in his eyes, blue and yellow and black, “I’m going to say you are strong, and that you are making it. You’re a fighter, and a good one.”

 

It is not that Viktor is the first to encourage him, to tell him the things he needs to hear; it is that Yuuri is slowly starting to believe those things by himself, even in the dark, even when he is alone changing after training with sweat dripping from his forehead to the ground. He feels combusted. He can win. His muscles tremble and his chest feels like he’s jumping from an airplane with a wingsuit. He almost doesn’t hear Viktor come close.

 

“Hey you,” he says. “I’m glad you have that look back in your eyes. How is the fight going?”

 

Yuuko is about to arrive, but Yuuri is flying low under Viktor’s gaze and they both stumble and end up tangled and desperate. Yuuri doesn’t know anymore how many times he has been kissed by him, but he does know how he wants to kiss Viktor next. He hums and purrs and fuck, _how can you do this to me Viktor_ , he has him flushed and pinned between him and the wall, Viktor’s hair sticking up when he arches his neck and presses against his body harder, hips out, pants down. Yuuri fucks him nice with two fingers and Viktor lifts one leg, giving space, dragging himself down deeper and moaning with his eyes closed, all white neck and little freckles on the tip of his nose. Yuuri can see him hard and leaking, hips griding, no rhythm but so much hunger.

 

They kiss, long, forever. Yuuri’s fingers inside and outside, so hot and tight and pleading, Viktor hisses, grabs him as if to rip his sweater. He bites his own lips, furiously, eyebrows pitched, hair everywhere. Yuuri wants so much that he is surprised with being calm; high on sex and Viktor and the smell of his naked skin, but calm, not terrified. He fucks him slow, in awe with the sighs, the yearning, “Please, Yuuri,” the long, “Please,” long long long, “Please, please.” He has loved him for so long.

 

Yuuko arrives late that day, which is perfectly fine.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is twenty four years and fifthteen days old. The Grand Prix Final party must be over already. Yuuri woke up ten minutes ago and he’s sure the sun is about to rise. He is conditioned to wake up early because of training, even if he has already won the silver and is still a little drunk from the party.

 

Viktor is half on top of him, one arm crossing his chest, one leg tangled between Yuuri’s legs. It’s a hotel in Barcelona and the best place in the world.

 

“Good morning, Yuuri,” Viktor says.

 

“Good morning, Viktor,” Yuuri says.

 

They don’t move, but they don’t fall sleep again either.

 

“I needed to get away from figure skating,” Viktor says, after a while.

 

“I know” Yuuri answers, but expects him to elaborate. Viktor smiles against his chest.

 

“I got bored of life, I think. I guess I took life for granted, after all the times I won; I think I lost the sensation that there was anything else for me to do.” Viktor muses a bit, crooks his arm and rests his chin over it. Yuuri can almost see his face, can feel his breath, “I ran away. Winning was not going to be a victory for me anymore.”

 

Yuuri thinks about it, Viktor’s heart beat against his ribs.

 

“But winning will be a victory again,” Viktor says, finally “I think I remember what it’s like to be alive again.” He lifts one hand, pets Yuuri’s hair and Yuuri leans into the touch. “You helped me remember. I’m glad you conquered me”.

 

Yuuri laughs. “I’m glad you’re happy Viktor,” he says. “That’s all I ever wanted for you.” Yuuri takes a breath before he continues. “I always felt you where chewing something over in your head. All this time I thought it was about skating. I was afraid of being an abstacle to you.” Viktor cuddles closer, lets him speak, “I’m pleased you trust me enough to tell me your thoughts.”

 

Viktor seems to think it through. “I’ve tried to always tell you what I feel,” he says, “It’s just sometimes I can’t put it into words,”

 

Yuuri smiles. Yuuri knows.

 

“I know I hide a lot. I promise I will always try to define things. I don’t want to be scared anymore of someting I can’t name,” Yuuri says.

 

“Good,” Viktor says, kisses his chests lightly, “I promise to try as well.”

 

Yuuri starts to fall sleep after that, and he suspects Viktor does the same. The last thing he thinks befores drifting off is that fear needs to be questioned, fear needs to be exposed, fear need to be talked about, because more often than not fear exist just because of itself. Fear doesn’t solve anything, fear doesn’t help anybody to acomplish dreams, fear doesn’t get you out of bed in the morning.

 

Fear, the devil, the anxiety that freezes you, conquers by lack of definition.

 

To define fear is to erase it. One defines fear by talking it through it, facing it.

 

He holds Viktor closer, his warmth is home, and there’s no place like home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see this isn't at all chronological, I'm also making an experiment aside from writing in english for the first time. So this isn't the end of the story although all chapters begin and pretty much end as well. Anyway, I tried to fill the holes I left here with the other chapters, so.
> 
> Yo-ho.


	2. The Fight

 

Yuuri is twenty three years, eleven months and two weeks old. They’ve done this before, the staring, and now Yuuri can anticipate what comes next almost every time.

 

Viktor looks at him and his eyes are like the sunlight seen from the deep end of a pool. He drops the “I want you bad, Katsuki” casually, in front of his parents, while having dinner and talking about the Rostelcom. “I want to melt in your mouth Yuuri, I’m being serious.”

 

Yuuri’s parents don’t understand English, and his mother asks before a gulp of tea if Viktor wants something.

 

“He’s tired, mom,” he says in Japanese.

 

“Not tired enough,” Viktor says in English.

 

Yuuri sometimes feels like it is becoming a problem that Viktor is learning his native language; there’s no place to hide from him anymore. It’s not like Yuuri needs to hide either, but it’s scary none the less.

 

It happened before, as in this very same afternoon before. They kissed when nobody was watching. Kissing for the first time on live television was enough of an audience for now, kissing is a secret act, not exactly denied as private, intimate. Yuuri opens his eyes when they pause to breath and where Viktor speaks all sorts of things ( _I like your hair when is undone, your glasses when they are clouded ‘cause of us, kissing, Yuuri_ ) he can’t quite put it into words, but even the way his hair falls is different, Viktor exudes heat, want, tangible desire ( _Yuuri, Yuuri I’m, Jesus Christ, you drive insane_ ). They are pressed against each other and the wood, the door to his room beside them. Yuuri knows what Viktor is about to ask because he has been asking for it since the day he first arrived. So Yuuri kisses him silently until his legs are weak, and he cries a little inside Viktor’s lips, all messy and ashamed. He doesn’t feel like he’s doing it wrong anymore, but he’s not completely used to it either.

 

“Let me sleep in your room,” Viktor says, obviously.

 

“No” Yuuri answers, obviously.

 

“Ow, Yuuri, c’mon.”

 

“No, Viktor.”

 

Kisses, chaste kisses and sloppy hands on his ribs, Viktors looks at him glassy, blotchy, supplicating.

 

“Please?” he says.

 

It’s so unfair.

 

“Please,” he insists, hugs him, shrouding him with legs and lips, “please, Yuuri, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to, you know that.”

 

“I know that.”

 

“Then let me.”

 

He sounds almost hurt, the demon.

 

They kiss another minute or so, until they hear his father’s footsteps in the hallway. Yuuri pushes him apart just a bit and Viktor pants unhappy.

 

“Pretty please?”

 

Yuuri doesn’t even say a word, but he approves with his body, lowers the shoulders, lets his head fall, surrenders. His father went somewhere else but the battle is lost, he gave in too soon.

 

“You’re such a drama queen, Yuuri, I can’t believe you won’t let me in because of your dirty laundry or some silly shit like that, I’ve seen you with your stomach dropping out of your underwear and washed in sweat, there’s nothing to be ashamed of, I promise”

 

_Some silly shit._

Yuuri is not coming in with him, he’s going to stay put, maybe a little glued, right where he is, just let him open the door, and, well, see it all.

 

_Nothing to be ashamed of._

 

Yuuri might laugh someday when he remembers this, right now the seconds stretch long and he can hear Viktor humming something, fumbling for the lights, asking him for help and then, then there’s light. Yuuri only moves because he feels like a wild animal is going to rip his chest open from the inside, he moves out of deep abashment.

 

Viktor is standing in the center of it all, head slightly tilted to the right. He breaths in… and a million years later he breaths out. Yuuri holds his breath the whole time anyway.

 

“Yuuri,” he says, air filling the syllables more than his voice. “Yuuri,” he says again, and he can’t see his face but Yuuri knows he closed his eyes.

 

Yuuri breaths out and the sigh echoes so hard he blushes, _fuck_ , of course, _fuck_.

 

Viktor is looking at him when he looks up. He seems amused, expression curious, a little flattered.

 

Well. Very flattered.

 

“Who could’ve known,” Viktor says all festive and shit, smiling, “that you wouldn’t let me in your room because I was already here.”

 

Yuuri steps in, closes the door, shrugs a little as response and distantly wonders if taking all posters off the walls like he did the first day would be a good choice right now.

 

“I’m just a little concerned about something,” Viktor says, pretending to be serious and failing with his eyes. Yuuri feels danger. He looks at him in terror while Viktor sits down on his bed and points to the ceiling. “How do you jerk off in peace if my weirdly passionate and sweaty face is stuck up there. Do you close your eyes or wh-”

 

Viktor suddenly stops speaking and stares at him with his mouth still open. Yuuri wants to scream and run away. He hasn’t felt so raw and nervous in Viktor’s presence in months. His face must be ten different kinds of red. He cannot be a little aroused, he is not, and Viktor is getting all red in the cheeks as well. Viktor was trying to make it easier and made it _worse._

 

“Oh,” he says, his expression the same bewildered thing. “Oh God, Yuuri,” and there’s air again where his voice should be.

 

“I’m out of here,” says Yuuri, maybe a little too fast.

 

“It’s your room, are you nuts?” Viktor is lying down, pressing his head to the pillow. “Stay,” he says, his arms folded beneath his face, his voice muffled and warm.

 

Viktor is embarrassed.

 

Yuuri is frozen, burning but frozen, and staring in disbelief. Yuuri gets why, there’s a room full of pictures of him and he guessed first thing Yuuri’s masturbatory ritual. Yuuri might be laughing right now, out of shame and broken nerves, he tries to stop it with his hand. Viktor looks at him and laughs a little too.

 

“I know why I’m here twenty-one times, Yuuri”

 

Yuuri tries to stop in vain, but while chuckling, contradicts him anyway. “Twenty, there’s twenty poste- oh,” Viktor is still flushed, all spread out in his bed, smiling at him, “Yeah, you’re here too, twenty-one.” Yuuri finally stops laughing.

 

It occurs to him he isn’t as afraid as he could be about this.

 

“This is your place, I want to be infinite times in your place. I’m glad I‘m already this many. It’s a good start.” Viktor rolls, taps the covers as invitation, which is useless because Yuuri is frozen again. “I like it here. I’m not surprised I arrived before I even knew. I want to stay forever.”

 

God, he’s so straightforward, Yuuri is melting under his gaze, and he tries to reach for the light switch on the wall, tries to ignore him.

 

“Let me, Yuuri?” the light goes off, and Viktor’s face is softer with only the desk lamp on. “Let me stay.”

 

“I was thinking of asking you to go to your bed, actually”, he says, he gets closer to the bed, his face is so hot he feels light weighted, brave, Viktor looks surprised. “But yeah, yes,” Yuuri moves his arms around, timid. “Stay, Viktor.” He smiles.

 

They are kissing wild and fast, biting, grinding, just a moment later. Yuuri is underneath Viktor in the blink of an eye, breathless already, half hard, glasses off without noticing. Viktor has him lift up his knees, settles between his thighs, kiss him mad, kiss him needy and open mouthed, wet and hot. He only kisses him soft and slow when he mimics the cadence with his hips and Yuuri whimpers, pants and pushes him down further with his legs, surrounding him, bringing them closer, _God Viktor_ , he holds him by the hips, long and rhythmic against him, no words but hollow breath, warmth in their faces.

 

“Yuuri” he says, losing the rich rhythm and going chaotic. “Yuuri tell me,” and Yuuri lifts his hips, meets him halfway, pure disorder and sweet pleasure, “Do you belong with me?” Yuuri is so close and so overtaken he answers with no filter, fists in Viktor’s t-shirt and a long Japanese afirmative prayer, all words a discontinuous moan.

 

He stops because Viktor kisses him, kisses him like the end of the world. “Great”, he says, kisses him again, humps him and his eyes close. “Great” he says again, looks at him with crocked eyebrows, pleasure all over his face. “Because I cannot belong with you more, I’m so yours I’m overwh-“ Yuuri bites him in the shoulder or the neck, somewhere, so he doesn’t scream while coming, all clothes on, and coming so hard he jerks, Viktor goes still and then goes mad. “Fuck, Yuuri,” says, grinding so hard it hurts where Yuuri is already sensitive, but he’s coming with his eyes closed and his mouth open, one single long infinite breath since Yuuri bit him.

 

“I can’t believe I didn’t even get you shirtless,” he says before Yuuri is too sleepy to keep listening.

 

“I can’t believe you cannot be more mine,” Yuuri says, though, “You can, I’ll make you.”

 

Yuuri doesn’t see the way Viktor cannot stop looking at him after that.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is still twenty three years, elven months and two weeks old when he wakes up the next day. Viktor is a solid warm weight everywhere. His hair tickles in the back of his neck, his left arm is embracing him and their legs are entangled. Yuuri almost goes back to sleep in the highest comfort when he feels the hard line of Viktor’s cock against his ass. Viktor just rubs himself slowly against him, still sleep.

 

At first Yuuri doesn’t do anything, lets it happen. He can feel him throbbing, hot and lazy moving, for minutes. But it turns him on so bad he can’t help it, all be damned, he moans under his breath, keeps the movement of Viktor’s hips going with his own and rubs back, grinds soft and long and delicious. Viktors wakes up, a little groan in his throat and sudden change in his breath.

 

“Yuuri,” he says immediately, warm and sleepy, and Yuuri flushes, stops.

 

Viktor then becomes aware of Yuuri’s ass pressed against him because he gets harder. “Yuuri” he says again, deep, fully awake. He moves his arm, holds Yuuri with his hand by the hipbone and rubs with so much purpose Yuuri melts, effervesces, moans.

 

Viktor gets on top of him, and Yuuri is facing down, lifting his ass shamelessly and hiding his face absolutely ashamed. The friction is a raw, unknown feeling. Viktor slides slow through the gap of his ass and hisses; Yuuri muffles a cry in the pillow and feels revolved, hazed. Then there are hands griping his pyjamas and his pants off, Viktor takes them half down his thighs and rushes forward, kisses the back of his neck, bites soft the top of his back. “How can you be this pretty, Jesus.” Kisses. “Yuuri, I want you so bad,” open mouthed kisses on his neck, “you destroy me”.

 

When he feels Viktor again he has no pants either and his cock is firm smoothness, wet on the tip. He spreads his cheeks, slides back to the middle and strokes, back and forth, groans low, raspy. Yuuri goes wild with the sound, the feeling. Sinks further in the pillow but lifts his hips, draws circles with them and with Viktor pressed, warm and stiff, right there in his ass. He is so hard he may come with some little rubbing against the mattress.

 

“You’re unbelievable.” Viktor is breathing hard, “Please kiss me Yuuri, I’m-- _Ah, yes._..” There’s a hand holding his hair and Yuuri arches his neck, follows the touch, lifts his chin. Viktor is there in a second, warm lips, tongue, small bites.

 

Viktor comes pressing down, holding him by the hipbones and moaning with so much air, he doesn’t stop grinding against him, keeps the rhythm smooth, his cock bobs until he’s done and Yuuri can feel a warm, wet, thick pool at the end of his back, the crack of his ass. “Hmm”, he’s so absolutely high he might just touch himself right now. He does.

 

And Viktor warps his hand around Yuuri’s.

 

“Let me” he says, and while Yuuri pulls his arm out Viktor does this dirty awfully hot stroke with the tip of his cock, from the curve of his ass to his balls, slippery and hot, and Yuuri has his come all over his ass, he can hear the wet sound of Viktor grinding again while jerking him off, _God you’re killing me,_ Yuuri goes back to rub his ass up. He can feel the sordid, overwhelming pressure of Viktor’s cock, so wet and good, teasing, provoking, ripping moans of both; his hand pressing where it should on his cock. “ _V-Viktor,_ ” Yuuri says, like a supplication, he can feel him everywhere when he comes, so hard he screams a little and cries a little at the same time.

 

He falls forward, belly splashing on his own come and Viktor laughing, petting his back.

 

“I hope these walls are more sound proof than they look, ‘cause I would never make you stay quiet.”

 

* * *

 

Viktor is sitting on the edge of the bed, his hair is shaggy and fluffy. “Hmm.” He seems to be looking ahead, “I wish _that_ were my face every morning,” he says.

 

Yuuri sits, looks back and forth between the poster and the man. “Viktor,” his eyes might be a bit wider in the poster, but, “ _that_ is your face”.

 

He smiles. Yuuri blushes slightly.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is twenty four years and two weeks old. He’s exhausted, Barcelona has left him jet lagged and tired.

 

He already knows because, yeah, he can’t stop thinking about it since it started, since long before, since he was twelve. He has always been thinking of Viktor. Furthermore he knows what they are up to, the two of them, with Viktor giving him those pleading eyes at the end of the rink and dancing along with him the whole time. Barcelona makes the bug he’s been carrying since Russia a reality. It is not possible for him to deny it anymore.

 

They are not going to make this, whatever it is, work.

 

Viktor looks at him heavy and purposeful. Yuuri is changing his training clothes, and even though he’s not looking back he can feel Viktor’s stare like a flame. He has to pick up his skates from the ground and Viktor hums softly. Yuuri knows he’s looking at his ass, and he’s flattered, and blotchy, and horny, but also really sure they have to stop training together if Viktor is his coach, because they are unable to separate this intense relationship-thing going on between them from anything else in their lives. Yuuri can’t, he knows he doesn’t see a clear dividing line between their personal relationship, whatever it is, and their training arrangement.

 

Viktors throws himself into his arms in the middle of practice and right now, in the lockers, he’s grabbing his ass and babbling in Russian. Yuuri doesn’t know what he’s saying exactly but he gets the message and gets so hard, fuck, he’s kissing him and helping him push the beds together when they get to the room. They do it so they can roll from bed to bed when it gets too hot.

 

They aren’t boyfriends _and_ trainer and athlete. They are one single mixed up warm messy thing altogether. Viktor remembers what he did wrong on the ice while they are sleeping and in the middle of training wants to kiss him desperately. Yuuri is in his paroxysm. Viktor was such a distant idea and getting to know him proved to Yuuri he didn’t know the slightest thing about him in the first place, but they grew so fond of each other, they learned to trust and to talk and to be comfortable, to say things without words and to kiss helplessly with no reason.

 

After months Yuuri found out he wasn’t in love with a handsome guy that hung on his bedroom posters, but with a real deal of a person, one with fears and flaws and loving eyes and morning breath, one who he could talk to and cry to, one who’d be there for him when he needed him most.

 

And that’s great, Viktor cuddling him is great, no lie, they just got back from training and he’s all enthusiasm.

 

“Yuuri” he whispers, “you have me.”

 

Oh, boy, how can he not give in, Yuuri turns around in his arms, looks at him and sees him beyond his grey hair and the shadows cast over him. He’s the most remarkable person he knows. He is, as well, the first thing he thinks about in the morning and the last before he sleeps. He doesn’t need any experience to put a name to it, he knows from the core of his chest he would spend every day of this icy aching preoccupied and hilarious life beside him and be forever in awe. He kisses him, lets himself be touched and dragged closer, follows the grinding and whispering, speaks back, “I wanna do you with my mouth, Viktor,” laughs and gets flustered too.

 

They do not have two relationships. They haven’t drawn any limit between the professional and the personal, they are raw and urgent about each other, they fall and train and hear music and eat and dance and sing out of tune and skate and cuddle together, all in one single big package. It’s confusing, even if rhythmic somehow. Yuuri is not taking any credit from Viktor’s work because he’s been amazing, but he has the feeling that if they are to keep this up without some kind of clarification it’s going to end up being unhealthy.

 

Viktor is sliding his hand inside Yuuri’s underwear. “You shouldn’t practice the flip tomorrow with the rest of them. Not the next day either. We’ll do it after they leave or you’ll get nervous. You have nailed it enough, you’ll do great in the short program.” And he’s already stroking him when he finishes talking.

 

The problem is not the practical chatter during sex, because Viktor can speak about loops or groan and be just as sensual. The problem is that coaching needs impartiality, and being in love is being partial. Not that Yuuri minds the partiality of Viktor, but it will not be convenient in the long run, and not just for Yuuri, but for Viktor himself. Yuuri has the growing feeling Viktor is denying things to himself in order to keep training Yuuri.

 

But Viktor’s hand is soft and he’s spreading something wet and warm on the tip of his cock as he bobs up and down and, _ah,_ he can think about this later, he can talk to Viktor after this, after tomorrow, at some point in the near future. Right now he moans in Viktor’s mouth and undresses him as fast as possible. Viktor likes to slide inside his mouth slowly, drag himself out with no rush, hissing when Yuuri starts sucking from the bottom. They are going places tonight, Yuuri has a feeling, has this indecent amount of want pooled inside him. Fuck, he wants him so bad he might stop licking and speak.

 

“You’d fuck me.”

 

Viktor stares at him bewildered and his cock jumps a little, it would be funny if it weren’t for Yuuri being lost in himself because, well, he’s just as surprised he actually said it out loud. And it wasn’t a question, it was stated, certain.

 

“You want me to,” Viktor says, and _yes,_ another statement.

 

They’ve done a lot, but they haven’t gone there yet, always trembling and coming before. Yuuri is always teasingly asking and Viktor always waiting to know if he’d say yes, both reaching orgasm before talking about it.

 

But now they have talked about it, if briefly.

 

Viktor fingers him precisely, knowing, reducing him to whimpers and clutched fists. He’s leaking and breathless when Viktor pushes three fingers in and groans, “So tight, Yuuri,” bites at his nipple, licks, “I will make you feel so good you’re going to beg for more, scream my name, maybe cry, it’d be nice if you cry because you like it so much.” He bites at his neck, licks his chin, keeps talking because he can.

 

Yuuri can’t, he whimpers, and Viktor looks down at him from above.

 

“Do you want to?” he asks.

 

“I want you,” Yuuri answers.

 

Viktor presses behind his knees and Yuuri spreads his legs wider, he can see smooth skin dripping sweat, long drops sliding off his neck. Viktor looks undone, his hair spiking up and his lips swollen. They do it fine and deathly slow, Yuuri has no breath and no mind when Viktor has pushed all the way in, and they moan in synchrony. It hurts a little, a lot, it hurts and burns and “ _Please, Vikt-“_ it’s a wild thing, sex, overwhelming and intimate, sweat sharing and mouth to mouth breath sharing and hands everywhere touch sharing and it’s an all together share, and Yuuri would share with him everything he wanted: a house or a life or a dog or breakfast. His whole body, his whole soul, be my guest Viktor, let’s belong.

 

It catches him that he was a virgin in the middle of it, Viktor fucking him as if the world were ending.

 

Because Viktor fucks him long, fast, slow, and stupid, kissing his legs and his arms and his sweaty head and “You better not let me go Yuuri, you’ll kill me.” He fucks him until Yuuri cannot hold out any longer and cannot stop trembling because he’s so going to come if Viktor keeps it at this pace that he just can’t, can’t, can’t “I can’t, I can’t, Viktor, I can’t”, “Oh, you can darling,” he says so close their noses are bumping, “I got you, darling, I got you, I got you” “I _can’t, can’t Viktor, I’m-ah”_ “I got you,” and Viktor does, his arms are all around him “look at me.”

 

Yuuri goes loud again, trembling more, clenching and arching and _loosing it, fuck, “I’m-“_ “Yes, yes, Yuuri, yes, _ah-_ ” He comes so hard he warps his legs around Viktor and cries while shaking. It’s ridiculous, and he feels crude, wild and exposed.

 

But he’s crying because it feels so good that it doesn’t fit inside his body.

 

Viktor is licking his neck with hunger when he comes a second after, buried inside, grasping him tight and almost painfully by the hips.

 

Yuuri would never leave him, God help him, Yuuri would treasure him forever in the daily motion of live and in the ephemeral moments of eternity, like this one: Viktor sleeping with his face to the pillow and his hair wrinkled under his temple, mouth relaxed and deep slow motioned breath, facing him and tangling him with his body. How was he supposed to say it in the middle of making love? He hopes Viktor understands.

 

They cannot date and be trainer and athlete because Yuuri isn’t willing to become an obstacle between Viktor and the competition he misses so much; that’s a line they haven’t drawn. Yurri would never forgive himself for keeping Viktor from what he loves, because Yuuri loves him, loves him so much he doesn’t know how to put it into words, how to phrase it so Viktor would feel and not only hear a sound, so Viktor would cry as Yuuri just might because of how crude and how immeasurable it is. He would like to say it so it is both warming and frightening.

 

He wants to say, ‘I can’t have you as my coach because you want to skate and I want you to skate so I can see you happy and be happy myself, but we never talk about this. I’m drowning because I also want you by my side all day and all night and I’m glued to the ground right now. I’m not talking to you about it because even thinking about I can’t find the right words. I just know that I can’t stand the idea of being what stops you, and so I need to stop myself, because this war is ending me. I’m so nervous about tomorrow. I’m sure I’m fucking it up and it’s only training, I can’t stand it anymore and it is not the good way of can’t, it’s the anxious way and Jesus, _love, I’m sorry.’_

 

Yuuri is so quitting after this. He feels mangled and afraid; he feels unable to keep up with the fear and the self expectation. After all, he already succeeded and he is certainly going to succeed now. He may not be sure about himself, but he is surely bringing that gold to Viktor so he can kiss it and hopefully kiss him too. He laughs under his breath. He could spend the next day playing nice, but he’s sure the ice would not forgive him. The ice is what he has always wanted most and so when he feels he has to run away, his own body betrays him, and the ice hurts, the ice is hurting right now. He’s gonna fuck up and he knows it; he always fucks up when he tries to run away and keep himself safe, secure, like warming up and not actually training.

 

Is he trying to run away again? Is that why he wants to leave? Is he going to lose this fight definitely? Is this the reason he feels so uneasy about everything with Viktor? Is he running away for real? Is that what this is? And if not, what is it then?

 

“Yuuri, stop that” Viktor says, awake for who knows how long. “Focus on me. Sleep. You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. I’ll be here forever if you’ll have me, and we’ll win this fight.”

 

_Viktor, bless your soul, help me because I feel like running away again and I don’t know for how long I have been._

_And stay._

_Stay forever._

Yuuri decides that night he did well when he asked Viktor to be his and take care of him until the day of his retirement. He’d said in Japanese, because it was a raw emotion and he wasn’t able to translate it, and Viktor got it all together anyway, even understood the deeper meaning of it where Yuuri hadn’t. He’s just really sad he couldn’t convince himself to stay longer than this in competition.

 

How can he ask Viktor to stay anyway? How can he ask him to stay forever?

 

The next day Yuuri gives him the ring.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is twenty four years and one week old. They are one week away from the Grand Prix Final and he’s getting wrecked everyday in the rink, today being no exception at all. Viktor doesn’t say a word when he doesn’t put on the flip, and that’s a big problem right there because after months of Viktor throwing a thousand words at him all the time, he needs them now. The approval, the “you did great Yuuri, I’m loving it, I’ve never been happier.”

 

Viktor doesn’t look completely happy. Rather, Yuuri thinks he’s moony.

 

But he smiles when Yuuri approaches.

 

“Can we practice the other one?” Yuuri says, hoping that it isn’t too straight forward, and why it should be if it’s their dance? He still feels embarrassed to ask; it makes him feel warm and weird all over.

 

“Land one more flip and you’ll have me, Katsuki.” says Viktor, and winks. Normal, everyday kind of Viktor behavior.

 

Yuuri loses his breath a little nevertheless, stumbles when he speaks and leaves to practice the jump feeling awkward on his legs.

 

It’s so absurd, Jesus, they have kissed like… wow, maybe hundreds of times. Yuuri likes that thought, and yet he’s shy. Maybe not timid, like before, but shy. Anyway he went and asked him to dance Stay With Me, and that’s a clear proposal to casually hug and lift each other in the air while holding hands, and caressing faces, and yes, Yuuri isn’t as hesitant as before.

 

He lands the flip, goddamnit.

 

Viktor flies to his arms a moment later, huge smile while he talks so highly of his stamina. Yuuri feels like he’s thinking something he doesn’t want to share, like he’s using that smile, which is a great smile, to hide that he isn’t exactly in a good mood. Viktor has done that since the beginning. Yuuri started to realize months ago; it’s part of his character. Viktor hides as well; he runs away by smiling.

 

But if anybody knows what it’s like to hide that’s Yuuri. If anybody knows what it’s like to skate and let it all out while you’re at it that’s Yuuri. Viktor is like that too; they don’t talk about it just yet, but when they dance the song Yuuri can feel him buzzing, can see him frowning, and can hear him gnawing in his head even if they make no sounds but the gasps and the laughter. Viktor is so soft in his arms, his performance so harmonious and moving, and Yuuri holds him tight, dances as if he were trying to scream how much he wants to be there.

 

And this time, this time he lets his hand slide across his face as Viktor has asked him to do and as he was never bold enough to try.

 

Viktor leans into the touch.

 

They are kissing on the ice after the song ends and Viktor starts to do with his hips what he’s doing with his mouth.

 

“Stop,” Yuuri says. “At least take me home. I’m not getting my ass frozen, or my come on the ice, and definitely not on my clothes because I brought no change and, Viktor” he’s sliding his hands dangerously, “Viktor”, breathily, “Viktor my parents aren’t home, they left this morning to my visit my uncle.”

 

Viktor insist (because he says it three times in a row) they should take a run from the rink to the onsen. Yuuri agrees and thinks about what he said, about coming in the rink, and gets flushed like an idiot while running behind him.

 

The baths are closed, because Yuuri alone can’t take any clients. His parents agreed he had to train for the competition, so they didn’t even ask his sister to stay. The place is empty except for Makkachin, who greets them loudly, tail wagging. Viktor drags him to the onsen without saying a word and Yuuri follows.

 

It’s been two weeks since Viktor walked into his room for the first time. He has spent most nights there since and has even succeeded in dragging Yuuri into his room a few times. They’re past first times being naked around each other; they have been since the first day, in fact. Yuuri fidgets a little with his t-shit, because boy, this is still overwhelming sometimes, all the time. Viktor does things to Yuuri he can’t balance, control, manage, and he can do them without being there, he could do them even when he was just a poster.

 

He’s not a poster anymore. Yuuri doesn’t simply jerk off to the thought of somebody for almost a decade until his hand was dust to then watch them be savage with ease. He can’t, heavens have mercy of him. He hyperventilates and gets harder, he sits down and hides his boner as best as he can because it’s going nowhere with Viktor dancing while bathing, absolutely bare-ass naked and covered in soap.

 

After, like, twelve minutes they are making out, again. Yuuri is pretty sure he’s doing a lot better than he used to because Viktor makes this noise, hoarse and crisp, a groan that vibrates from the back of his throat. Yuuri likes to bite him while he sounds like that. Viktor gets flushed and noisy.

 

“I’m absorbed by your eyes; I want to always see myself in them”

 

“You are the one with pretty eyes, Viktor.”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yeah, you.”

 

“I like your eyes better than mine.”

 

“I can’t believe what you like. Your eyes are blue, different shades of blue. Mine are just plain.”

 

“Don’t complain, you have no idea what you do to me when you look at me like this.”

 

“I’m not, I don’t.” _How could I?_

Yuuri doesn’t know where he gets all those commentaries from. Viktor is usually a talkative person. He says, “You did great” or “I’m here to become your coach” or “I wanna know everything about you.” He talks, laughs, whistles, flirts and does all sorts of extrovert things all the time, anywhere. And yet he’s shy in comparison when they are like this. He seems to spill out everything that goes through his head while they are this close, kissing, naked kissing. He speaks, moans, speaks, groans, speaks, kisses, speaks, touches, “What do you like most about me?” bites, “Is it my skating? My body? My face?” slides his hands through his hair, “Is it my voice? My skin? I don’t know Yuuri, tell me, is it my ass?” Yuuri laughs.

 

“Viktor” he says, answers. He’s not good with this kind of talking, he’s not good with talking at all. “I-I like _you_ , I like everything about you.” And he would like to hide a little, but he’s almost on Viktor’s lap by now, though intimidated.

 

“I know you like me,” he says, the assface, so handsome, “You’ve been hard since I kissed you back in the rink.” He winks at him, blows him a close range kiss, “I like you too, but I wanna know.”

 

“Know what?” He seems to know everything already, Yuuri feels put in evidence.

 

“What did you think about when you touched yourself thinking about me? What made you want me in the first place?” He’s talking with such ease. It should be against the law.

 

“Th-that’s a big question.” Yuuri is being pushed forward, he goes with it.

 

He’s on Viktor’s lap, absolutely.

 

“You can’t tell what you like? I can tell.”

 

“ _You can tell?_ ” Viktor grabs him, kisses him.

 

“Of course I can tell. The first time I touched myself thinking of you, I thought about you face,” Viktor says, like talking about a triple axel or the taste of soup, biting his lips.

 

Yuuri misunderstood; he doesn’t know if it’s worse. “What,” he says, more to himself than anything, he’s having trouble being alive.

 

“I like your lips, your glasses, your hair pulled back,” and Viktor does that, pulls his hair back, “like that.” and now he looks savage, hungry.

 

They kiss long, Viktor strokes him under the hot water, it feels like a dream. Muscles tired and relaxed at the same time, hot and cold, skin touching, Viktor pulling him even closer, sucking at his collarbone, breathing hard against his adams apple, scratching with his teeth at his jaw. Yuuri hopes he will drop the subject, and do not stop touching.

 

He doesn’t stop touching.

 

“There must be something.” And doesn’t drop the subject.

 

“ _Ah, Viktor,”_ Yuuri is going to say it, isn’t he, “I-I guess I, uhm, I always liked you- _ah_ ”

Viktor looks at him with anticipation, strokes him with slow, sweet pressure.

 

“You- _your hair,_ ” he admits, damn, “Long and short, and… just, your hair and your eyes.”

He doesn’t say it though, he doesn’t. He keeps it to himself that he used to think of Viktor with a ponytail, sucking him off and being a mess of hair everywhere. He doesn’t say he used to think of Viktor fucking him long and looking him in the eye, with his quiff wriggling. Yuuri doesn’t say his face gets warm just by running fingers through his hair, but Viktor’s probably seen it and he seems to get it all the same, because he guides Yuuri’s hands to his head and lets himself be kissed while Yuuri plays his fingers through his hair, feeling hot everywhere.

 

Viktor lays him on the rocks after they break apart, the end of his legs still in the water. Before he can say something or be ashamed of his cock jumping for being close to his face, Viktor is holding him, opening his mouth, sucking the tip as if it were a lollipop. Yuuri goes blank, shudders, pushes deeper by reflex. Viktor smiles around him, takes him as far as he can go and, _shit, yes, shit fuck, his mouth feels so good and his tongue is-- ah.._

Viktor’s hair is leaving ghost traces low on his belly, his hair is covering his eyes and his face, his hair is covering the stretch of his mouth.

 

Yuuri lifts a little, holds Viktor’s hair with one hand and keeps it on top of his head, short strands losing his hold and cupping Viktor’s face. He can see his eyes staring back, his pink cheeks, his open red mouth, _his eyes, yes, his eyes are almost black._ Yuuri licks his own lips, trembles, he came so many times thinking of this image he’s a little in shock to be living it. His head rolls back.

 

Viktor lets go of his cock and his mouth makes a ‘pop’ sound. Yuuri’s utterly turned on, and just as disappointed, until he looks at him.

 

He’s sucking his own fingers.

 

It feels weird and awkward and hurts a little to be honest, but Yuuri doesn’t complain. Opens his legs, lays back, tries to relax. Stops feeling weird after a moment, rolls his hips with the motion of that hand and Viktor is talking again, “So nice”, Yuuri can feel his breath on his belly, “so tight,” his mouth again on his cock, “Hm.” Yuuri moans loud, high pitched, desperate.

 

Viktor sucks his cock and curls his fingers inside him. Yuuri comes.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is twenty three years and eleven months old, the ice feels like a blessing this morning, he’s in the best mood he’s been in months, God bless him, maybe in years. The music isn’t loud, he’s just improvising, it was weird at first but now he does it often in front of Viktor; most trainings, he just dances. Viktor’s staring, his gaze falls heavy on him, Yuuri breaths in and looks back at him for an instant, and Viktor winks. Yuuri looks somewhere else, his skates, the ice, anywhere, he can hear Viktor putting the protectors on the table, starting to skate towards him.

 

Viktor kissed him on international television three days ago.

 

They never kissed before.

 

Viktor had to go back to Japan because of Makkachin so they haven’t addressed the subject yet.

 

Also, Yuuri might have asked marriage indirectly yesterday night and Viktor might have said yes.

 

It’s not weird, not exactly, but Yuuri feels like they are going to have to talk about it soon and he’s just… a little excited, the air seems different between them, they could both be just a bit flushed.

 

“We should dance, we haven’t done it in a few days…” he says. And well, they _are_ dancing, but Yuuri knows he means they should dance _that_ dance.

 

Stay With Me. It’s like those secret jokes best friends have but this isn’t exactly a joke. It’s a confession.

 

They started to do it because one day Viktor walked in while he was out-of-schedule-training. He’d been anxious after dinner, didn’t expect Viktor to follow when he left to the ice castle. But he caught him, and Yuuri had felt like dancing Stay With Me again, so they ended up dancing it together side by side.

 

It escalated. They ended up dancing it _together_ at some point.

 

Later on Viktor said he’d dance a whole program of them together in the gala of the GPF if Yuuri won a medal. And it almost knocked him out and ended him right there. There’s moments when Yuuri forgets Viktor as the huge idea he had of him and all the fantasises he had about it, and there’s moments he snaps out whole like right now and Viktor is smiling at him and his face is worth a million bucks, God.

 

“I’d dance it too, then,” Yuuri said.

 

They have been _dancing it_ since.

 

So they dance it today, with a conversation building up and happening inside of Yuuri’s head and with him feeling like he can conquer the world at the same time. As it is, this is one of those days he’s not afraid. He has those days too, he has them more often now, he found out his longing and pain were hidden in the desolation of not doing something, being something. So he decided to accept what he has and to become all he wants to be, in peace. He’s not happy everyday, but he’s happier more often because he’s fighting.

 

He’s happy right now, Viktor in sync with him.

 

His feet are torn out shit though; when he stretches them after showering it hurts, not the bad kind of hurt, but it hurts. So he sits down outside while Viktor says goodbye to the girls and Yuuko, rests even if it’s just a little.

 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, playfully, crouching next to him.

 

“Anxiety” says Yuuri. “I think I’m feeling better. I can see what I want with my life clearer, I guess”

 

He’s thinking of leaving competitions for good and that doesn’t make him exactly happy (wow, it doesn’t?), but every time he’s less afraid of doing it because he wasn’t good enough to be the best. He wants to give his all, he feels he can win and that’s why they are doing this, but he doesn’t know if he had what competition takes from him anymore. Yeah, let’s phrase it like that.

 

“Hm” says Viktor, “I’m really glad. I hope you find what makes you happiest.” He leans in a bit, their shoulders brushing as he sits down. “I think training helps you. It has kept me away from being sad.” He leans back, putting his quiff out of his face again. “Or maybe not it’s not training. Maybe it’s, you know, just… dancing.”

 

Viktor looks at him, and how could it be his eyes are so warm, _baby_ , when his eyes are like the ice as well, it’s impossible.

 

He’s an impossible thing himself. Yuuri laughs, thinks he may be in love with him.

 

Of course, he always has been. But he didn’t _know_ Viktor before, though he knew all sorts of details and magazine quotes and Tumblr analysis of his performances, but to be honest he wouldn’t have been able to say if he fancied him as a person. How could he have known if he liked him in the ordinary, in the day by day, in the quiet intimacy of having diner and talking shit about the TV and teaching languages to each other, liking to kiss him and hopefully kiss him again.

 

“Yeah” he says, overwhelmed. “And you” Viktor rises his eyebrows a little, “you’d helped me too, I think I’m also happier because of you, so,” for being champion at sixteen and making me want to do it myself, for winning four times the world championship in a row and making me both exhilarated and self hateful, for coming to my house, for coaching me, for asking to sleep in my bed and bathe with me and for eating my favourite food without giving me a bite, for being always there for me to talk and lean on, for smiling just like you are smiling now, Jesus, I’m in love with you, “Thanks, Viktor, thank you.”

 

“I’m happier because of you too,” he says immediately, “I..” and he’s out of words, he’s mouth is open as if he were to say something, but he doesn’t. He’s looking at him with the pure intense morning sky in his eyes, he’s sighing. God, what makes him do that, Yuuri wants to chase that breath.

 

“Should I kiss you?” he asks, finally.

 

And this is it, they are going to talk about it.

 

“Why do you keep asking that?”

 

Viktor seems to think about it for a second, then he speaks as if it were obvious.

 

“Because I want to kiss you, but I don’t know if you do.”

 

“You want to.”

 

“I want to.”

 

Yuuri pulls him closer, fists in his jacket, Viktor closes his eyes and leans forward.

 

That was a pretty good talk, if you ask him.

 

The pressure is nice, Viktor smells nice, he can feel him soft on his lips and harsh where his stubble missed the razor, he’s kissing him. That’s a lot. Yuuri isn’t sure what to do so he breaks it up, breathes, takes a look at that face, for God’s sake. Viktor doesn’t open his eyes, but he frowns as if delighted.

 

“Can I do that again?”

 

Yuuri is kissing him again, short kisses with his mouth half open, sharing breath and half words, and Yuuri humming while Viktor grabs his hair and he’s sucking on his bottom lip when Yuuri cradles his neck with his hands.

 

Yuuri laughs, breaks up again.

 

Viktor looks at him with hazy eyes.

 

“I’m sorry” says Yuuri, “I don’t really know what I’m doing but I wanna do it a lot.”

 

Viktor with a laugh on his lips is kissing him again. “You’re doing great” he says, his voice is lower, Yuuri vaguely wonders if he’s turned on as well, because he’s burning.

 

They kiss, Viktor tries to open his mouth with his tongue and Yuuri pants, he breaks, “Yeah”, Viktor says, breathily, putting his thumb over Yuuri’s bottom lip, “Open your mouth” he whispers.

 

Viktor kisses long and slow, Yuuri lets it happen, kisses back with doubt but with longing. Viktor bites him soft, Yuuri hums, licks his lips, Viktor sighs, they look at each other.

 

“Kiss me,” Viktor says.

“No,” says Yuuri, bumping their noises, “you kiss me.”

 

Viktor does as told, nice.

 

They hear a gasp, low, feminine. They turn to see one of Yuuko’s girls, Yuuri isn’t sure which one, as she covers her mouth. Yuuri isn’t sure which one she is, they doesn’t seem one whole person when they are apart, they are even harder to identify. The other two arrive, but she remains in shock.

 

Yuuri and Viktor stand up and laugh. Yuuko finds all five of them laughing.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri is twenty four years and eighteen days old.

 

Yurio didn’t only beat him, he beat _Viktor’s world record_ on the short program.

 

Viktor was troubled and jealous, he was angry, disappointed but also happy, he was so many things at the same time Yuuri wasn’t able to approach him while Yurio was on the ice. It was the look on his face, he was consternate, storm and wildfire on his eyes. Yuuri heard the music and didn’t need to see Yurio, he felt insecure as fuck, shit, _this is why I’m leaving._

 

That night he finally put it into words, Viktor was out of the shower and starting to flirt.

 

And he cried after Yuuri said it.

 

Yuuri didn’t enjoy it at all, but it kind of shook him, to cause tears. Viktor’s tears.

 

Yuuri touched his hair. And it was a confession, of course, it had always been, Yuuri caressing him. But Viktor bakced off as if disgusted or furious. He said he was angry. How bitter, Yuuri felt his resolution weakening, he suspected Viktor could make him think about it twice. Right now Yuuri felt he had thought about it a thousand times. He has been thinking about it because it feels unconcluded.

 

 _You,_ Yuuri said to himself, _you better find what makes you happy, because you’re sad right now and you weren’t supposed to be at this point._

_Viktor, why are you crying harder, why would you do this._

“How can you ask me to return while you retire?” Viktor speaks louder and launches forward, grabs him by the shoulders.

 

Yuuri misses a heartbeat.

 

But Viktor stays vey still after, even stops crying though he seems sadder.

 

“I’m coming back even if you’re not there. I won’t enjoy it as much though,” Viktor lets him go, stands up.

 

“Don’t look at me like that, Viktor, I’ve been trying and-“ Yuuri pauses, Viktor was cleaning the wet traces off his face, “I haven’t tried, I’ve done it, all I could. I’m going to win this, for me and for you”

 

Viktor blinks, his eyes unreadable for once.

 

“I’m not taking my ring off, and if you ask me to think twice about my retirement then I will.” Yuuri could give him this, the doubt, and he isn’t only doing it because of Viktor anyway.

 

He entertained a thought, Viktor looked pale, his sadness beautiful if painful.

 

Yuuri knew how, and he wasn’t afraid. Not while Viktor cried. He swore to himself to make him cry for happiness.

 

They slept with the beds pushed together but it felt like they were miles apart.

 

The next day Yuuri fulfilled his oath.

 

And Viktor cried while smiling so big he’s face got pink.

 

Viktor expression was priceless when he got to hug him after his free skate, the tightest hug, Yuuri felt Viktor’s heartbeat on the right side of his chest and he found out they were both accelerated, wild. They shared no words, just one big stare before walking into the kiss and cry beside the rink.

 

Yuuri not only beat all his expectations, he beat _Viktor’s world record_ with his free skate program.

 

“As your coach I’m proud, as a competitor not so much,” he said, offering his hand.

 

There.

 

Yuuri shook his hand back and couldn’t stop looking at him after for almost a minute.

 

“What?” Viktor said, amused, his eyes still a little red.

 

There was the line he was looking for between them.

 

“Thank you, for everything”

 

Yuuri felt horribly for ever thinking he, of all people, was ever going to make Viktor Nikiforov, the soul of rock and roll dancing with violins, stop. He’s a storm in the middle of summer, Yuuri just beat him on the free score and Viktor is smiling with his ‘dear, you ain’t nothing’ face, like he was a challenge.

 

He’s so glad Viktor didn’t reacted as he did yesterday when Yurio beat him.

 

He’s so glad the love that binds them together doesn’t make them quit what they love most about themselves for the other. This kind of love cannot be bad. He feels he really, Jesus, he really would like to spend his life waking up to Viktor every day. They brush their hands together when they walk out of the kiss and cry and Yuuri is relieved, he has loved Viktor all his life, and to feel he was being toxic to him, it was ending him.

 

But he isn’t toxic. What a weird and warm feeling. His chest seems big enough for his soul to fit and feel comfortable, he feels secure. Not only with Viktor, but with himself.

 

Good skating has this effect, usually. It changes him. It always has, it’s a catharsis, the only one Yuuri has ever been able to accomplish to retaliate against his pain and fear. He has been so scared of not skating he had no choice but to. And the strength and the force of it always struck him hard, always brought his spirit home, even if sometimes it hurt; some times it made him feel he wasn’t as sad as he was used to being. He thinks better after a good cry and a good dance on the ice.

 

He’s happy.

 

Yuuri didn’t even put it into words in his mind until he said it out loud, “Viktor, be my couch for one more year,” but when he wasn’t sad for not getting the gold he should’ve seen it coming. He wasn’t afraid to compete again. Maybe a couple times more after that one year, who knows? What troubled him by the end was the idea of Yurio competing against Viktor without him to make it even more interesting.

 

_I can make it more interesting, just watch._

Love wasn’t a victory march, love was learning to lose in peace so Yuuri could win while calm. And he’s going to win even if that means beating Viktor on the ice, not only on the scores. That was the idea that made him want to keep it since he was a child anyway. He’s not afraid and he’s not alone, not anymore. Viktor is hugging him back and they are both on the freezing floor, but is the best place on the world right now.

 

They are staying close, not only as a couple, but as trainer and athlete as well.

 

It shouldn’t surprise him that they weren’t able to separate those relationships, because they were never able to. He’s happy they can manage being good for each other and for themselves. He doesn’t feel that there are no lines; he feels they can hug until they melt every one. Yuuri supposes they will try to beat the other until the last jump in competition, but they will make love like mad if either of them wins next year.

 

They dance Stay Close To Me in front of everyone, and where Yuuri was timid to caress his face before in private he is absolutely resolute now. They never did it as well as they did it that night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it way too confusing?  
> See ya.  
> Yo-ho.


	3. The Conquer

Yuuri is seventeen years and four months old. As any other day he ends up reading an article about Viktor. There’s already fifteen posters of him in Yuuri’s room and Vicchan was running and hiding under the bed in a loop ten minutes ago. Yuuri reads the dates of Viktor’s skate victories and gets uncomfortable. He does the math not really wanting to; it’s like letting himself be led by his feet in ignorance.

 

And then he realizes.

 

Yuuri is glued to the floor, chest not working right. He pushes from the screen as if it were shit, and between he’s breathing so fast he asks himself were the air of the _whole world_ is supposed to be because there’s none for him.

 

Nothing to do, really. It’s been years since anxiety has attacked him without him being capable of escaping. So what if there is sweat on his forehead despite the cold of the ice. What would become of his longing for skating with Viktor. How does it matter if he’s climbing higher in the nationals. How does it matter if Japan is just a country and Viktor already conquered the world, the whole world under his golden skates and his long hair, silver waterfall on his back.

 

Disgusting. He stays still, observing the wall of his room in absolute frustration, not moving a muscle. Yuuri has been thinking of this and suffering over this for too many years, being incapable of anything else but complaining, and well, he focuses on the ice, and the cold sensation of catching sunrise while skating, in how good a shower feels after training.

 

And then he begins to breathe under control again.

 

It puts him at ease; to think about the public, the idea of landing a quadruple flip on the short program and obtaining the best world record. He floods in the freezing steam of Hasetsu’s rink at night, when nobody is skating, but Yuuri is allowed because Yuuko’s parents expect him to go to the Olympics and bring a medal home one day. Yuuri thinks of the traces of all the times he has fallen and stood up again, thinks of Viktor skating one day under the same roof as him, with his arms wide open and Yuuri not feeling like he does not exist at all, like he’s useless, a shame.

 

Yuuri thinks he can skate and be seen by thousands, even if skating is an intimate act that he draws upon only for himself. He thinks of winning all competences even if skating is a path to self realization, like all art forms, like all love forms. Yuuri takes a deep breath. Everything on the surface of the ice steals his breath away, makes him boil. He loves it; Yuuri loves.

 

It is so obvious that for a moment Yuuri wonders what he is doing, sitting at his silly and hollow desk chair. He sees himself reflected on the dark screen of his computer and wonders again how stupid he’s got to be to misunderstand how simple it actually is.

 

It is not enough, goddamn it.

 

It is not enough.

 

It is not enough to wish for, it’s only enough when you make it happen.

 

Damned Yuuri, he thinks, always in the comfort zone, always safe, always in danger of himself, Yuuri. If he wants to skate so bad and be the best in the world then what the hell is he doing sitting like a imbecile staring at the computer screen when he can be skating. He stands up like a machine and packs everything necessary automatically.

 

He’s jogging to the rink with his eyes wide open and his head full of smoke.

 

He knows how to defeat anxiety now.

 

He’s got to face what scares him. Yuuri is afraid of not succeeding, not becoming one of the best in the world. So he is becoming the best in the world, no turning back, no questions asked.

 

Before any panic situation, Yuuri commits himself to hours of training to tame his soul.

 

As it turns out, training heals his heart’s wounds.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri is twenty-four years and eighteen days old. He won silver in the Grand Fucking Prix Fucking Final. They embrace for ten minutes of the clock while tangled on the floor like insane people. They _dance Stay Close To Me_ in public and it is something like making love with the soul.

 

Right now they are in the elevator, going to the hotel bar because the party is about to start and Chris screamed at them in grief for not having a medal this year. He warned that in if they didn’t arrive early, he would drag them himself out of their room drinking tequila while naked if he had to. Yuuri looks at Viktor and notices a girl behind him in the other corner of the elevator. She’s listening to music and casting quick glances at them. They press their foreheads together, and Yuuri can see his face in Viktor’s eyes. He blows him a kiss almost on top of his lips, not yet touching him. Viktor stares breathless, his eyes are the deep end of a pool reflecting the sky, his pupils dilatate fiercely, damn, he’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

 

“I love you,” Viktor says.

 

Ah, God. Yuuri shallows and dies. Melts.

 

They are getting married and the ring is warm between his fingers but they never really said it, it was always said in the simple act, in the soft kiss after training, in asking each other about marriage while dinning with friends and gifting each other engagement rings and in all the things they did, like fucking lovingly. Confession never had a name, though. They proposed and said yes, yet neither Viktor nor Yuuri said it. Their only love confession was their friendship, the mutual unspoken trust. Yuuri exhales the longest breath of his life, because _shit._

Anxiety is a demon that corrodes the soul.

 

And Yuuri needed to hear it to believe it. If there’s one thing he has always doubted it’s himself, and it is a little unbelievable, but he thinks he wanted to run away because he didn’t know if Viktor wanted this for real. This whole deal of staring at each other, and saying they want to live together, and kissing savoring coffee on freezing mornings, seems unreal. And it is _not_ that Yuuri doubts Viktor, is that fundamentally, Yuuri has never learned to trust himself. He always expected the worst, always knows he will cause himself embarrassment.

 

And yet.

 

Viktor loves him and Yuuri feels that his effect on Viktor is not damaging to either of them, he finds that they both can do what they love beside the other: compete, train, walk Makkashin on the beach, fuck, take pictures and dance until their feet hurt, laugh like mad at midnight trying not to wake Yuuri’s parents, read, have a drink with Minako, attempt to take care of Yurio and all those thing they do together because it is comfortable. Yuuri is comfortable, not anxious or insecure or irritated about something indefinable. It isn’t just Viktor; it’s his own spirit. Yuuri is at ease with who he is, and God, bless you, Viktor is the love of his life and is smiling and trying to give him a kiss and he just said that he loves him. Those are the longest seconds of his life.

 

Yuuri is overwhelmingly, heroically happy.

 

He drops his head to Viktor’s neck and he may cry from happiness, it’s that bad.

 

“I love you so much,” he says with no air, with water, “I love you, I love you more than what I can love you, it’s too much.”

 

Viktor tenses and says his name with a smile in his voice, and hugs him as if trying to squeeze the air from his lungs.

 

“I’m going to be drunk when we get to the room but we’re fucking like we haven’t before, I swear,” Yuuri says, because he wants to sink into his heart and it almost hurts. Yuuri is going to make love to him until there’s no air left in the world.

 

Viktor looks him square in the face with deep surprise written all over, and where Yuuri thinks his declaration was rather public when whet Viktor says is, “I’m really glad I’m marring you,” and he’s blushing the way he does when they have kissed a lot and things get off the ground.

 

The elevator opens up and one hour later they are both badly, badly drunk.

 

It’s a wild thing. Yurio steals a wine cup that Viktor forgets in the middle of a dance battle and when he finishes Yuuri pulls him by a sleeve.

 

“Viktor, look,” he mutters.

 

Viktor turns around and there it is, happening. Yurio with one hand on the table beside the cup and other on Otabek’s shirt, their eyes are glassy and half open, looking at each other while they kiss. Yuuri murmurs that kids grow faster than back in the day and Viktor drunk accuses him of having an old soul.

 

“I will tell you the truth,” Yuuri says when he is really drunk, and he decides to stop drinking so he can have sex because he will definitely forget who he is in the middle of the next shot. “When I left to live in Detroit I spent a week being unable to sleep comfortably and couldn’t tell what made me so awkward.” Chris is dancing half naked with J.J. behind Viktor. “Then I realised it was _you, I missed you,_ ” Yuuri says.

 

It is the cheesiest thing he’s said since he’s known Viktor, but he had to, they are getting married, whatever.

 

“You had a poster of my face in Detroit as well.” Viktor has that shit eating grin of his plastered on his face, it’s terrible.

 

Yuuri cannot work out an answer. Pitchit, who appeared behind Viktor somehow, says, laughing, “It is true.”

 

Hearing him, Viktor turns around to look with amusement, saying nothing, and Pitchit finishes.

 

“I saw him jerking off to one good picture of your ass once, I swear, what a barbarity.”

 

Yuuri blushes so hard and laughs so hard his gut hurts and Viktor is absolutely blotchy and pleased.

 

When Pitchit leaves Yuuri remembers to feel shame and cannot work himself to look at Viktor in the eye, but Viktor holds Yuuri by one arm instead.

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor says and Yuuri turns to see him breathing short. “Do you remember the day you did me with your fingers?”

 

Yuuri’s mouth feels dry suddenly, he forgets to be ashamed, he feels like busting into flames inside out, “Yeah,” he gasps.

 

Viktor looks at him for the shortest moment and his eyes fall to the floor. “I liked that.”

 

Air drains from the room. Yuuri feels like he’s beyond time. It might be the alcohol, or being in love, he would do him right here.

 

“Let’s leave now,” he says.

 

“Yeah,” Viktor says.

 

Yurio and Otabek are laughing and dancing. Minako is sitting beside Yakov and each of them has ten upside down vodka shots. Mila has twelve and seems a lot more sober than them. There’s people dancing, people piled up sweating and talking, there’s reporters and such. Chris is sitting on his boyfriend’s lap.

 

They leave.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is twenty three years, eleven months and nine days old. Viktor and Minako have been having an affair with sake, lately. Yuuri shallows his nervousness about the Rostelcom being two days away and settles on a cocktail with ice cream instead of alcohol. He watches Minako drink Viktor under the table yet again. Viktor was already tipsy when they left the rink because Minako picked them up on the way to her bar and they both watched Yuuri dance for the last time his short program before they left. While drinking, of course.

 

Now, one hour and a half later, Viktor is drunk.

 

It’s hilarious. His cheeks are a little pink and his gaze is soft, a little unfocused. Minako is in the middle of a joke when her phone rings, she has had just as much as Viktor but she looks composed.

 

“Give me a minute, boys” she says, standing up from behind the bar counter, looking at her phone screen. “Don’t have unprotected sex while I’m gone.” She is looking at them, faint blue light cast across her face, crooked smile.

 

Sure, she’s drunk, but Yuuri’s face heats up. He can feel tension in his temples from opening his eyes so wide.

 

“Pff”, Viktor mutters when she’s closing the door behind her, “It wouldn’t be so bad, Yuuri” he says, and Yuuri just stares at the bottles in front of him, the little table with the register and her purse. “You know,” he keeps saying, and somehow Yuuri is sure he’s going somewhere dangerous, he keeps looking ahead, the wood of the armoires, the white door frame, “I’m pretty sure I’m clean.”

 

Yuuri tries to give a straight face when he looks at him. Viktor is licking his lips and giving him this incredibly self secure expression, it’s one of those times Yuuri is sure he’s obvious because Viktor is giving him the pornographic stare.

 

It intimidates the fuck out of him.

 

“Well” he says, nevertheless, “I’m as clean as I can be, too”.

 

Viktor smiles like he’s plotting mischief.

 

“We would have to be exclusive, then.” He leans a little forward. He’s probably joking like Minako was, Yuuri isn’t breathing anyway. “Can I trust myself to be yours, then?”

 

Yuuri feels like a waterfall, pouring heavy, restless, down from the sky. He feels like he’s in the middle of a summer storm. For someone who has fantasized so much about Viktor, he hadn’t thought once of actually having sex with him since he’s known him. He’s jerked off and stuff, sure, but Yuuri, well… hadn’t planned this kind of conversation at all.

 

“It depends,” Yuuri says, because Viktor does this to him, they can talk even if it’s embarrassing, “I have high standards,” he says, trying to play along even if it’s true.

 

If kissing is a love act, sex could only be making love. Yuuri has treasured the idea way too much and has been timid enough his whole life not to search for closeness with somebody in a casual way. He is not timid with Viktor; lately he thinks he has found out that he is shy but not exactly an introvert when he’s gained trust. He said it and Viktor looks at him like he’s looking through him. Yuuri’s face feels weird.

 

“You have never made love,” Viktor concludes, with a little too much air in his voice.

 

Yuuri wonders if Viktor is actually breathless. Yuuri doesn’t answer, he isn’t surprised anymore when Viktor reads him so fast. They have developed the kind of trust that allows them to open up and meet the other half way. They are friends now, good ones.

 

They are maybe something more. Yuuri wonders if when Viktor flirts he only does it to joke around, because he does it a lot. A man can only hope. They stare at each other for a while. Viktor breaths in deep and holds it. Yuuri feels at the end of the world.

 

“Yuuri,” he says, “should I kiss you?”

 

Yuuri finds out he would like him to and it resolves him. Maybe two months earlier the idea would’ve been much to handle. Viktor was the closest stranger in his life, but a stranger no less. Kissing is a love act, he might be in love with Viktor, and not the one from the interviews and posters, but this one, the one smelling of alcohol he has in front of him. Yuuri feels drunk and hasn’t had half his non alcohol cocktail.

 

He isn’t sure how to put all that in words and before he can do it Minako walks back in on them.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is twenty four years and eighteen days old. They get to the room, Yuuri is kissing Viktor’s neck, opening his trousers with one hand and opening the door with the other.

 

It surely helps that they are drunk. Viktor pushes towards his fingers helplessly and Yurri holds him by the curve of his back in awe. Yuuri is certain he could come any day to this image, Viktor, drunk and flushed, rubbing and stirring the sheets, lifting his hips to meet his fingers, take them further inside.

 

Yuuri is three fingers deep inside Viktor and the room smells like tequila, sex between men, fabric softener in the linens, and ice in the rink after midnight.

 

Yuuri does him with his mouth when Viktor thought they would fuck, and the result is gray hair chaotically arranged and all the sounds Viktor didn’t try to hold back. Yuuri fucks him with his tongue, fucks him with his fingers and when Viktor is trembling, Yuuri fucks him with his cock, softly until he’s all the way in and they are both breathless.

 

They fuck face down and face up and they both forget to speak English in the middle of it but they understand what the other says anyway. They make love as if life were ending. Yuuri gives it wantonly and Viktor takes it, tight and hot, almost pulling him deeper, not letting him go. It’s maddening, pleasure that boils, Viktor, Viktor boils and Yuuri is deep, deep, completely deep inside him.

 

They come at the same time and Yuuri has one hand on Viktor neck and a hundred love words in his mouth. He might have asked marriage again in the middle of pulling out.

 

Viktor might have said yes again.

 

They might have fallen sleep not long after, lube and sex stained.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is twenty three years and five months old. There’s something that doesn’t let him sleep. His anxiety it’s not usually related to insomnia. Sometimes it happens, but most of all it makes him sleep too much, eat too much, think too much. So he tries to check things inside himself hoping to find fears. He finds he’s coming back to Viktor, he can hear the vague rumor of breathing in the house and tries to find where the inhaling and exhaling is coming from, and finds the room of his trainer.

 

Of his trainer.

 

The love of his life, platonically.

 

Viktor’s room, Viktor who started training him a month ago, who today also asked to sleep with him and who’s been so close to his face with _his face_ that Yuuri has, shame on him, had to jack it off in the showers of the Ice Castle.

 

He realises then that his insomnia comes not from his own anxiety but from Viktor, even if he’s also guilty of Yuuri being dead tired and actually in shape again as he was before neglecting training.

 

He feels the urge, so he stands up, turns his desk lamp on and looks for Viktor in his own room.

 

Because Viktor is always in Yuuri’s room. Since a month ago he’s been under the bed, because being twenty times on the walls seemed redundant when Viktor is in his home, alive and three dimensional, all the time. Yuuri looks for him, because in the middle of the night, after seeing him all day, he just wants to see his face.

 

And Yuuri finds him, Viktor at sixteen, Viktor at twenty. Viktor with long hair and focused expression, Viktor’s whole body, Viktor face on close-up. He checks all the posters one by one and flattens out the edges that have been bent by time and contact.

 

He feels nostalgia, but it is self nostalgia. He remembers being sad so many times that it almost, a little, saddens him again.

 

But the thing is, Yuuri isn’t really sad any more.

 

He chose it himself, while in Detroit alone. He did it because sadness was monotone and he got bored with not being a person of his own liking. And now, the thing is, with Viktor Yuuri is less sad than ever.

 

Yuuri sincerely believes that he’s been soul tired his whole life, and he doesn’t know how, he cannot exactly explain why, but he’s begun to feel rested.

 

It is in the middle of a happy thought that he realises he is sticking one Viktor poster on the wall, the first one to ever be there, that one Yuuko gave him more than ten years ago. The left corner is a bit yellowed because it detached and Yuuri had to put tape on it again; the very same one he had to hunt down in Detroit in the middle of a thousand new posters so he could sleep at ease in a foreign apartment that didn’t smell like the warm steam of the baths.

 

After he sticks that one up, Yuuri sticks up the other nineteen, and when he looks at his room again it is full of Viktor. He doesn’t think of being sad, but of being at home after years away. Yuuri’s soul is calm and Viktor is breathing a couple of walls away and for a brief eternal moment dreams do come true and life deserves to be lived and most of all, fear _has no reason_ to be.

 

The end.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> I'll be back, hopefully.  
> Just so you know if you didn't notice, the actual end is in the first chapter, chronologically it would be when they woke up after the party and talk about Viktor running away. But well, I wanted to join the dots this way, please tell me what you thought. 
> 
> Yo-ho.


End file.
